


It's So Easy (Falling in Love With You)

by BadNewsForBrainWork



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Controversial Issues, F/M, Homophobia, IRA - Freeform, Irish Civil War, Irish War of Independence, M/M, Male Homosexuality, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:22:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadNewsForBrainWork/pseuds/BadNewsForBrainWork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1919. The Irish War of Independence has just begun. A young Southern man by the name of Daryl Dixon travels to Dublin, Ireland to visit his brother. Little does he know that he's in for a big surprise. He becomes acquainted with two brothers, the MacManus twins, and things get a little crazy from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's So Easy (Falling in Love With You)

**Author's Note:**

> I have been meaning to post this for a while now, but here it is! The first chapter. I believe I'm going to be doing biweekly updates, most likely on Sundays and Thursdays. Keep your eyes peeled! More tags will be added as the story progresses, since I really don't want to spoil what I have planned for you all in the tags. I'm very excited to start working on this fic, since it's the first full length fic I've planned in a good while. 
> 
> The fanfiction is based loosely around two movies, _The Wind that Shakes the Barley_ and _Christopher and His Kind_. If you've never seen them, you should definitely watch them! They are both brilliant films. 
> 
> I also have to give lots of love to [Murphy](http://aequitaaas.tumblr.com/) for being my co-captain of this ship and inspiring me to write this. You're the best, mo ghrá!
> 
> With that, I bid you all happy reading! Much love to everyone and I hope you enjoy!

**Summer, 1919, Dublin, Ireland**

The ship arrives in Dublin in the early morning, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. The sky is covered with wispy, grey clouds that hide the lovely colors of dawn. The port is already bustling despite the time, shouts echoing through the crisp air as crews work to get their ships ready to set sail. A man in his late twenties steps off of a boat and waves goodbye to the crew. It’s the first time he’s ever set foot on foreign soil and nervous tension is starting to grow inside of him.

He pushes past the workers, getting a few glares and even more angry words tossed his way. He tightens his grip on the strap of his bag and keeps going until he’s reached town. He’d heard a lot of wonderful things about Dublin from his brother. He had been ecstatic to travel to Ireland; he hadn’t seen his brother in ages and it would do him some good to get out of the house. His father was pressing as always, drinking his cognac and shouting about how he should go to university and become a physician or a lawyer. He can hear his father’s voice in his head now as he makes his way down the cobblestone streets.

“Daryl, you can’t keep on like this,” his father had said over dinner a week earlier, “When are you goin’ to make somethin’ of yourself?” 

The truth was that he had already made something of himself and his father couldn’t accept it. Coming from a wealthy Southern family meant you had to play by the book. There were unspoken rules, customs that you couldn’t break. But Daryl had been the black sheep his whole life. His brother left when he was only ten, traveling overseas to start his own business, and Daryl, well, he’d gotten himself into trouble from the moment he didn’t have his big brother there to watch over him. 

He was just shy of fifteen when he saw his first motorcycle. He’d fallen in love at first sight. He spent several years doing odds jobs after school, taking up part-time work on the weekends, and finally, when he turned eighteen, he bought himself a bike. It was his pride and joy, his baby, and his father had been furious when he brought it home. With the little bit of money he still had, he left home and didn’t look back. He got into racing shortly thereafter and that was all he needed. He could afford rent, pay the bills, do things doctors and lawyers could do and most importantly, he was passionate about his career.

Then, Merle had gotten in touch with him, told him he would pay for his trip out to Ireland to see him. It’d been several years since his brother had been home and the promise made Daryl more excited than anything. He took some time off from the track and left for Ireland, but not without his bike. Merle had personally paid someone off to bring it in on a cargo ship that would be arriving later in the week. Until then, Daryl would just have to wait.

Daryl focuses on the task at hand now, pulling a slip of paper from his pocket. The address of Merle’s house and office building are scrawled sloppily on the page and Daryl has to squint to make out the names of the streets. At this time of day, Merle was probably already at the office, but Daryl had no clue where to even begin looking. He’d been wandering aimlessly for a while now, lost in his thoughts, and he hadn’t seen many people out and about. He strolls for a while, trying to decipher signs written in Gaelic, a feeling of frustration building as he makes his way through the town. 

Two hours later, Daryl finally finds the office building. He’s not surprised in the least that it’s one of the better-looking ones in town, all neatly trimmed hedges outside and polished glass windows with an intricate sign. He pushes open the door to Merle’s building and is greeted by a young woman with fiery, red hair.

“Do ye ‘ave an appointmen’?” she asks in a bland tone, picking at a hangnail.

“I’m here to see Merle Dixon. I’m his brother, Daryl.” He looks around the room, completely in awe. He knew Merle was rich, but this was something else. 

“One momen’,” the woman says as she holds up a finger and heads for an office in the back corner. Daryl slouches a little, his legs and lower back aching from walking for the last couple of hours. He immediately straightens when he catches sight of his brother emerging from his office. He’s dressed in a sharp suit, a small smile on his face, and Daryl feels extremely out of place in his dirty slacks and button-down shirt.

“You made it!” Merle shouts with gusto, coming to clap his brother on the shoulder. He yanks Daryl towards his office before he can even get a word in, stumbling a little as he’s dragged along. The woman working at the desk has gone back to doing a whole lot of nothing, twirling a lock of her long, red hair around her finger.

Merle allows Daryl to go in first, motioning for him to take a seat in the chair across from the desk. The office is full of expensive-looking paintings and other objects that Daryl knows Merle doesn’t give two shits about. It’s all for show. He peers at his brother to find him pouring drinks for the two of them, that almost-manic grin spreading across his face.

“Tell me about your trip, baby brother,” Merle instructs as he pushes a glass of whiskey towards him. Daryl grabs the drink from the desk and swirls the alcohol around before taking a swig. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sets the glass down again.

“Ain’t nothin’ to tell. It wasn’t so bad, I guess.” He shrugs before reaching for his glass again. “Some place you got here…” 

“You like it? Worked real hard for it. Jus’ proof that everythin’ pays off in the end.” Merle grabs a pack of cigarettes from his desk and jams one between his lips. He lights it up and takes a few puffs, relaxing into his chair. His expression has grown somber and Daryl knows what’s coming next. He can feel it in his gut.

“How’re things at home? You still into that racin’ business?” 

“Yeah…” Daryl mumbles warily, “Dad still ain’t too proud, but at least he’s talkin’ to me again. Got a big race comin’ up in a couple months. He keeps sayin’ all this shit about goin’ back to school, gettin’ a degree. You know how I feel ‘bout all’a that…” 

Merle opens his mouth to say something when shouts from outside startle both of them. The older Dixon moves to the window, looking out at the street with a deep frown. The yelling subsides after a few moments and Merle comes to sit in his chair again, taking a long drag from his cigarette and flicking the ashes into the tray on the desk.

“Daryl, you know where I stand. Jus’ don’t do anythin’ stupid. Get yourself killed out there on that damn bike.” He’s still staring out of the window, a look of worry on his face. They sit in silence until Daryl shifts forward, looking toward the window. 

“What was all that about?”

Merle snuffs out his cigarette in the ashtray and clears his throat, turning back to Daryl. “You know about it, don’t you? The war. Always fightin’ between them damn Brits and micks. Never get a damn break from all their hollerin’. Hooligans, all of ‘em.” 

Of course Daryl knew about the war. He wasn’t too clear on the details, but from what Merle had told him, there had been a lot of bloodshed already. He didn’t really know who was right and who was wrong. All he knew was that getting caught in the crosshairs could prove fatal. Merle had warned him extensively before he came to watch his back. Plenty of innocent people had already been put down because of this war. He didn’t want to see his little brother be one of them. 

It’s quiet for a long time. The incessant ticking of the clock behind Merle is grating on Daryl’s nerves. He’s still exhausted from his trip and in need of sleep. He grabs his glass and finishes off the whiskey before he stands. “Think I might go to the hotel. Didn’t get too much sleep last night.” 

“You sure you don’t wanna stay at my place? Got plenty of room for you,” Merle offers with raised brows, finishing off his own drink. Daryl shakes his head slowly, too many reasons why he can’t stay with his brother filling his head. Between Merle’s promiscuity, alcohol addiction, and the fact that he loves to give Daryl shit about his life choices were more than enough to deter him.

“Suit yourself, then,” Merle says with a shrug, “What hotel you stayin’ at? I’ll give you directions.”

_Thank God_ , Daryl thinks as he digs around in his coat pocket for the paper with the name written on it. He reads out the name and Merle gives him detailed directions, which Daryl scribbles down on his paper just in case. He hugs Merle goodbye, promising to meet him tomorrow night for supper, before he takes off into the streets of Dublin.

****

The hotel isn’t everything Daryl expected, but it’ll do for two weeks. He immediately goes up to his room and collapses on the bed, not even bothering to undress or take his shoes off. He dozes off, only to wake a few hours later to hollering in the street outside of his window. He groans and sits up, rubbing his head. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but that came as no surprise. He was absolutely drained and the few hour nap helped a little bit. The shouting, however, was getting on his last nerve. He walks to the window and peers out, watching people on the street. It’s dusk and the pub next door is already crawling with drunks. Despite his annoyance, he decides to shower up and head for the bar anyway, in desperate need of a drink.

It’s a lot crazier than he originally thought, bodies packed together inside the pub. He shoves through throngs of people before he finally gets to the counter. The bartender looks up at him, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“What’ll it be?”

Daryl has to think before he answers. “Whiskey, I guess.”

The bartender’s eyebrows shoot up, obviously surprised by his accent. “You’re not from ‘round ‘ere, are ye? Well, this one’s on me, boyo.” He turns to grab a bottle of whiskey and pours Daryl a drink. He sets it down in front of him with a jolly smile on his face. “What brings ye ta Dublin?”

Daryl graciously accepts the drink and smiles at the bartender. “Here visitin’ my brother. Haven’t seen him in a long time and I got some time off from my job.” He takes a big drink from his glass and sets it back down on the bar top. The bartender nods knowingly.

“What a good brother ye are, then!” The bartender laughs heartily before going back to drying beer mugs with his rag, whistling a tune that Daryl has never heard before. Daryl drinks his whiskey in silence, listening to the conversations of those around him. Everyone seems so carefree, even though there’s a war waging outside these pub doors. He can’t help but smile a little at that. He’d been in this country for less than a day and he already seemed to prefer it. 

A hand closes over Daryl’s shoulder and he looks up with a furrowed brow to see a very intoxicated man staring down at him. Before he can say anything, the man has moved into his personal space, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and jostling him back and forth. Daryl nearly chokes on his whiskey.

“Brother mine! So tha’s where ye been all evenin’! Been lookin’ everywhere for ye!” The man slurs, tightening his grip around Daryl’s shoulders. He tries to pull away but the other has him pinned against his body. He doesn’t know who Murphy is and frankly, he doesn’t care. He wants this drunken man to leave him so he can relax a little bit.

“Think you got the wrong guy, man,” Daryl shouts over the din in the room, gripping his glass tighter.

But the man makes no move to leave, only laughing louder and taking a shot of something that the bartender hands him. “Ye think I don’ know me own brother!? Ye can’ fool me, Murph!” He continues to sway back and forth, causing Daryl to spill his drink all over his hand. He growls and shoves the man away, standing up suddenly.

“Get the hell offa me!” He can feel eyes on him as he takes an offensive stance, but he really doesn’t give a shit. His first night in Ireland and he’s already getting into bar fights with drunks. Somehow, it reminds him a lot of home.

“O’, ye wan’ ta fight now, is tha’ it?” The drunken man stands unsteadily and puts up his fists. They’ve attracted a crowd of people now, most of them cheering and egging them on. Daryl looks around and he feels anger welling up inside of him. Their jeers spur him on and he finds himself clenching his fists tightly, digging his nails into the skin of his palms. He lifts his head slightly, looking past the man trying to fight with him, trying to think of a way to escape. His eyes focus on someone pushing through the crowd towards them, but it doesn’t register in his brain until the man is right there.

Daryl’s heart skips a beat and his breathing hitches. Standing before him, not five feet away, is someone who looks exactly like him. He’s a little younger by the looks of it, but the resemblance is uncanny. He staggers backwards, watching the man with wide eyes, his hand gripping the edge of the bar.

“Connor, wha’s goin’ on with ye?” Daryl’s twin looks up at him and his mouth drops open. “Who the ‘ell are ye?” The look of shock on the man’s face has subsided, replaced with one of suspicion. Daryl backs up slowly, bumping into the edge of a chair, holding a hand up in surrender.

“Jus’ a mistake, s’all. No hard feelin’s…” Daryl watches as his doppelganger steps back, wrapping an arm around the one he called Connor. He narrows his eyes and turns on his heel, carrying his brother out of the bar without a second glance in Daryl’s direction. Daryl swallows and looks around, realizing that hundreds of eyes are watching him. He grabs his drink and gulps it down before his feet carry him to the door. He pushes it open and staggers out into the street, his head spinning from the events from the past five minutes. Had he imagined that? No, it was far too real to be his imagination. He decides maybe it would be for the best to turn in for the night and he starts to make his way back to the hotel.

Of course, not ten steps from the door, he hears a familiar voice and he freezes in his tracks. He turns slowly to see his twin from before staring at him, head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed. Daryl stares back at him, unable to form words, a strange rage growing in his belly at the sight. This was too weird. 

“Oi, ye never answered me question. Who the ‘ell are ye? Never seen ye ‘roun’ these parts before.” The man’s stance is defensive and stiff, the beginnings of a frown forming on his lips.

It takes Daryl a moment to get his thoughts straight before he can answer, his head still spinning from everything that’s happened. “Name’s Daryl… I’m… not from around here.” He thinks about adding obviously, but decides against it. He’s all for fighting; hell, it’s like his second job. But for once, he’s not in the mood to fight. He’s too dumbstruck and far too tired to even think about it.

The Irishman narrows his eyes for a moment before smiling and leaning forward to clap Daryl on the shoulder. Well, color him surprised. That’s the last thing he expected. “Welcome ta Dublin then, Daryl! Sorry ‘bout me brother. He was a wee bit confused, for good reason.” He glances to the man that Daryl recognizes, the one he called Connor, leaning against the outside wall of the pub with a goofy smile on his face. When his eyes come back to the one before him, he’s getting the once over. That face, his face, is staring right back at him, scrutinizing him.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. Ain’t no big deal,” Daryl says as he rubs the back of his neck, unable to look away. The man before him smiles again before turning back to look at his brother.

“I shoul’ probably get ‘im home. Little too much whiskey this evenin’.” He chuckles and turns on his heel. He whips back around again, startling Daryl, a big grin spreading across his face. “Ah, almost forgot. I’m Murphy, and that one over there is me brother, Connor. Maybe we’ll meet ye again, Daryl.” 

He’s gone in a matter of seconds, running to his brother and putting an arm around his shoulders. The two of them stagger down the street together, laughing and shouting. Daryl stands in the middle of the street, still in a stupor, before he makes his way back to the hotel. He strips out of his clothes as soon as he’s upstairs and climbs into bed, curling up under the cool sheets. The one with his face, Murphy, seemed nice enough. He wonders if he will ever see them again. Dublin was a pretty big town and he doubted it. Still, he can’t seem to get the brothers out of his head, even as he falls asleep.


End file.
